


Compiled: The SDfSH: Therapy, Bad Days, and Tasks Series

by literally_no_idea



Series: Compiled Versions of Series [2]
Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Aromantic Bruce Banner, Asexual Bruce Banner, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Bruce Banner, Bipolar Bruce Banner, Bipolar Disorder, Bruce Banner Feels, Bruce Banner Has Issues, Bruce Banner-centric, Bruce Has DID - Dissociative Identity Disorder, Bruce has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Don’t copy to another site, Flashbacks, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Insomnia, Insomniac Bruce Banner, Past Drug Addiction, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, SDfSH 'verse, Selectively Mute Bruce Banner, Self-Harm, Service Animals, Service Dogs, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-03-08 21:27:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18902977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literally_no_idea/pseuds/literally_no_idea
Summary: While service animals are capable of a great many things, they aren't a magic fix; the heroes still go to therapy, they still have bad days, and their service animals sometimes really have their work cut out for them.(tags, characters, and ratings will be updated with each new chapter.)





	1. Clint and Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back to the series, or if you're new here, welcome! If you haven't read the main SDfSH series, you may want to do that first before reading this series. You can find the main SDfSH series in expanded form [ here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1268150) or compiled into a single work [ here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18070454)
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy!!

“Hi, Clint, how are you doing this afternoon?” Dr. Kayode asks, signing the question immediately after saying it. Clint shrugs.

 

“I’m okay,” he signs back. He’d run into a very drunk and upset Tony a few hours ago, and even though it had only taken a couple of minutes for Tony to realize what was happening and mentally sober up, it had been enough to send Clint into a series of flashbacks, and he’d found himself back to his senses hiding in an air duct he didn’t remember having climbed into. That was when his words had dried up, and he couldn’t seem to get them back.

 

A hand waves in Clint’s peripheral vision, and he looks up to see Dr. Kayode watching him. Lucky is pawing at his knee, alternating between licking Clint’s hands and resting his head in Clint’s lap. Clint tries to shake off his memories and focus. “Sorry,” he signs, and Dr. Kayode shakes his head.

 

“That’s fine. You have bad days, just like anyone else. What happened today? Something reminded you of your dad?” On Clint’s less verbal days, Dr. Kayode does his best to infer what he can about Clint’s behavior, so Clint has shorter answers to give. It makes it easier for Clint to communicate when he’s having a hard time.

 

“Yeah. Tony was drunk.” Clint’s breath hitches, and he curls up in a ball on the couch, his every instinct screaming run, run, hide, get away. He must dissociate, because next thing he knows he’s in the small space on top of the cabinet in the corner, crouched down with his shoulders touching the ceiling and his back and left arm pressed against the walls. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s also crying, tears streaming silently down his face.

 

Lucky has his front paws up on the cabinet, holding a water bottle in his mouth. Clint reaches down, taking it. Lucky immediately walks over to Dr. Kayode, taking something else from the man and bringing it back over to Clint. A small box of darts. After their first couple sessions, Dr. Kayode had set up a dart board on the wall, giving Clint something to focus on when he was upset.

 

Clint takes the box of darts, opening it and pulling out the dart with the red grip. Each of the darts is in a different color, giving Clint the opportunity to rearrange their placement on the dart board every time, making new patterns.

 

Clint tosses the dart, landing it on the “6” on the board. He digs in the box, pulling out the turquoise dart and throwing it at the “3.” He continues tossing darts under different numbers until only the purple one is left. He twirls the dart in his fingers for a minute before tossing it, landing it perfectly in the center of the dart board. He finally looks at Dr. Kayode again.

 

“How long has it been?” he signs, and Dr. Kayode checks his watch.

 

“Two hours. Do you want to stay up there?”

 

Clint nods. “Please.” A pause. “Do you think I’ll ever stop being scared of drunk men?”

 

Dr. Kayode shrugs. “Probably not. But it’ll get easier. We’re not here to fix you. We’re here to get you to be able to cope as safely and reasonably as possible. That’s all. Trauma doesn’t go away. But it gets much easier to manage.”

 

Clint nods again. “At least you’re honest.”

 

“I try to be.”

 

The rest of the session goes easier, after that. Clint climbs down from his perch 45 minutes later, sitting on the couch with Lucky draped across his lap, and 15 minutes after that their session ends, and Clint heads out to find Tony, Lucky trotting at his side. They find him with Diva in the workshop, and Clint knocks on the workshop door, Tony turning and waving him in.

 

“Hey. I’m really sorry about earlier,” he says, signing it too, and Clint nods.

 

“It’s okay,” he signs back. “Today was just a bad day. Therapy sucked too.”

 

“Therapy always sucks.”

 

“Very true. Do you want to watch Queer Eye? I haven’t gotten caught up on season three yet.”

 

Tony grins, closing out the schematic he was working on. “I always want to watch Queer Eye. Tan France is my style icon. You should take notes.”

 

“Fuck you, Stark, I’m fashionable.” Clint heads back to the workshop door, Tony walking beside him, both dogs trailing along.

 

“Barton. Sweatpants and pajama shirts isn’t a fashion statement, that’s a cry for help.”

 

“Whatever. Nominate me for Queer Eye then, asshole.”

 

“You think I haven’t already? Come on. I thought we were better friends than that.”

 

* * *

 

Clint spends a week and a half in a depressive episode. He spends a lot of his time in bed or on the couch, snacking on things. He only goes to about half of the meals the rest of the team has together, and he tries to go to his personal shooting range, but finds himself bored and uninterested.

 

He plays Mario Kart with Sam, but can’t find the energy to care when he loses. Lucky gets him to go out and walk, bringing his leash to Clint until the man gives up and takes Lucky out on a walk around the neighborhood, and while it helps, Clint still just can’t shake the vaguely numb, hollow feeling he has.

 

He forgets to brush his teeth most of the days, and can’t find the effort to shower, opting to just stay in bed instead, scrolling absently on his phone. Dr. Kayode notices as soon as he enters their therapy session that Clint is out of sorts, and he changes his plan for their session, deciding instead to focus on what they can do for Clint to help him through until this depressive episode passes.

 

“Hi Clint. Did Tony ever make you those paintball guns and bow and arrows you had wanted at one point?” he asks, and Clint frowns.

 

“Yeah. Why?”

 

Dr. Kayode shrugs. “Have you thought of using them to make art pieces?”

 

“What, like splatter paint?”

 

“Exactly like splatter paint. It could be a nice change of pace.”

 

Clint tilts his head to the side, considering. “Yeah, that could be interesting, I guess.”

 

“Do you want to go do that for our session today instead?”

 

Clint stands, Lucky standing to join him. “Sure. We’d need a canvas for it, though.”

 

“I bet we could get Tony to help with that, if we ask nicely,” Dr. Kayode says, “Besides, you like bothering Tony, don’t you?”

 

Clint nods. “You know me too well, Doc. Okay, I think JARVIS can ask for us. JARVIS?”

 

“Done, Agent Barton. Sir says he will meet you in your shooting range in 10 minutes.”

 

Dr. Kayode gestures to the door. “After you.”

 

When they reach the shooting range, Lucky stays outside the room in the viewing area, and Clint pulls out one of the paintball guns and the paintball bow and arrows, dumping a handful of different color paintballs into the gun’s chamber and filling a quiver with a random assortment of paintball arrows.

 

By the time he’s set up his weapons the way he wants them, Tony’s walking into the room in one of his older armors, carrying a stack of scrap metal pieces. He sets them around the room, then steps out of the armor, the armor closing up again behind him.

 

“Okay, so you can shoot at any of the metal pieces, and I’m gonna leave the suit behind, too. I’ve been wanting a more rainbow armor for a while, but it’s hard to get the same randomized effect of splash painting it just by using a random generator. So go to town, anything else in the room that gets splashed is fine, and if you decide later that you don’t like any of the spilled color, I can clean it up. I have a formula specifically for reversing the paint. Happy shooting!”

 

Tony waves and leaves, and Dr. Kayode nods at Clint. “I can step out if you’d like,” he offers, and Clint shrugs.

 

“I might hit you with some of the paint.”

 

“That’s fine. I could use a more colorful suit, too.”

 

Clint nods, picking up the bow and notching the first arrow. He looks around the room, evaluating his targets, then takes a deep breath. As he breathes out, he fires the first arrow, and quickly reloads.

 

He uses a variety of techniques; he shoots over his shoulder, fires three arrows at once, changes positions, leaps onto the various perches in the room, and even goes as far as doing flips and other fancy trick shots.

 

When the quiver runs out, he jumps for the perch he’d left the paintball gun on, snagging it and shooting one handed as he swings himself up to sit on the perch, shooting a smiley face onto one of the pieces of scrap metal, then hooks his feet on a rung so he can let his body swing upside down, firing at the back of Tony’s armor. He uses the last paintball to shoot the wall behind the armor, splattering paint on the wall and the armor by proximity.

 

He swings back upright, unhooking his feet and jumping, spinning mid air to land in a crouch on the floor, slightly out of breath as he looks around at his work.

 

The metal pieces are thoroughly covered in paint, and Tony’s suit looks like it’s been dipped in tie dye colors. Across the room, Dr. Kayode is standing next to one of the metal pieces, his suit speckled with paint, and he smiles as Clint walks toward him.

 

“How do you feel?” Dr. Kayode, and Clint shrugs.

 

“Better? Still kind of tired and hollow. But this was cool. Some of these metal pieces actually look like they could be some kind of Jackson Pollock painting,” he says, looking around again, and Dr. Kayode waits until Clint makes eye contact before speaking again.

 

“Well, activities aren’t a cure for depression, but they are a good way to help your brain start to reset itself. I bet you could hang some of these up on your walls, some handmade art.”

 

Clint nods. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe. Thanks.”

 

“Sure. Well, we still have another hour and a half for our session. Anything in particular you want to do?”

 

“Can we just talk in here?”

 

Dr. Kayode nods. “Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

 

“Well, I was thinking about a new vest design for Lucky, but I don’t know if it would be rude to ask Tony for another one.”

 

Clint walks over and hooks his feet under another rung on the wall, flopping so he’s upside down. “Oh, JARVIS, can you let Lucky in?”

 

The door clicks, and Lucky pushes his way in, laying underneath where Clint is hanging off the wall.

 

Dr. Kayode sits down on the floor not far away, cross legged. “Well, I don’t think Tony will mind. I might not know him very well, but based on the what you’ve told me, he sounds like he enjoys making things for people.”

 

“Yeah, but he’s already made so many vests for all the dogs, even just for Lucky, don’t you think it’s kind of selfish, to want so many versions of the same thing? It’s not like everyone has this kind of thing available to them, isn’t that just sort of, I don’t know, asshole-ish of me?”

 

“No, I don’t think so. Making use of the things you have when you have them is perfectly normal. Do you think that people who have plenty of food are being ‘asshole-ish’ by eating it when there’s people in the world who don’t have food?”

 

“No. Even when Barney and I didn’t have enough food, I never hated people who had food. I was happy for them. I just wish I could have had it too.”

 

“Exactly. So why is it wrong for you to enjoy what you have?”

 

The rest of the session goes well. Clint still doesn’t get out of his depressive episode until three days later, but every little thing helps. And if Clint spots Tony visiting a children’s hospital in his splatter-painted armor a few weeks later, well, that’s just an added bonus.

 

* * *

 

Dogs mess up too. They’re as much living, breathing animals as humans are, and even service dogs are going to have off days, days where they just aren’t feeling or doing as good as they normal would.

 

Clint knows this, but it still doesn’t make it any easier to have to leave the Deaf meetup he was currently at when Lucky started wandering around under the table, pulling at the leash to search for scraps on the ground.

 

It’s not because Lucky hasn’t eaten; Clint had fed him before they left the tower. But, like any other dog, Lucky has days where he’s just not as focused as he should be, gets distracted and doesn’t focus on his job. Today is one of those days.

 

Clint waits for a pause in the conversation he’s having. “Sorry, I need to check on Lucky, he’s pulling on the leash,” he signs, then looks down, gently tugs on the leash to get Lucky’s attention. “Stop,” he signs, but Lucky immediately turns back to what he was doing.

 

Clint sighs, turning back to Louisa. “Sorry, we need to leave. Lucky’s misbehaving,” he explains, and Louisa nods, signs back “oh-i-see,” the signing equivalent of “ohhhh.”

 

“That’s okay, have a good rest of your night! I’ll see you next time?” Louisa signs, and Clint shrugs.

 

“I’ll try, doesn’t always work out though. It was nice to meet you.”

 

“Nice to meet you.”

 

Clint taps the shoulder of the meetup organizer, Donna, waiting for her conversation to pause and Donna to make eye contact. “I’m headed out, Lucky is having a bad night. It was nice see you again,” Clint signs, and Donna nods.

 

“We love having you around, Clint. Even if you are a bit annoying.”

 

Clint grins. “Thanks! I’ll see you all later.”

 

He waves, and half of the people at the meetup sign their goodbyes, and then Clint’s leaving, headed back to the tower with Lucky at his side.

 

* * *

 

Task: hearing alert, name being called

 

Clint has his hearing aids in, but they’re in a crowded mall, and it’s hard to hear in general, let alone with hearing loss, so he’s grateful when Lucky paws at his leg, then turns and does a pointer stance to the right. Clint looks up and sees Natasha and Lapushka across the hall. He pets Lucky’s head, walking over to join Natasha. “Hey. Where are we going?” he asks, and Natasha points to the little place two stores down. Clint nods, following Natasha that way.

 

Task: clearing a room

 

A long mission yesterday morning had left Clint on edge, so when he has to go in for a meeting at SHIELD headquarters, he has Lucky clear each room before he enters. “Search,” he both says and signs, and Lucky steps forward into the meeting room, looking side to side, then coming back and nudging Clint’s hand. Clint gives him a treat, steps into the room, and takes his seat at the table with Lucky curled up at his feet.

 

Task: grounding during dissociation

 

Clint’s depersonalization/derealization means he tends to dissociate a good amount, so it’s not entirely weird to find himself in a place he doesn’t remember having gone to at a time of day he doesn’t remember it being last time he checked. So he’s not entirely shocked to be sitting on the floor of the communal dining room, Lucky in his lap licking his face.

 

He reaches up, scratching the bridge of Lucky’s nose gently. “Thanks, I’m here,” he says and signs, tapping Lucky’s side gently to get the dog off of him as he checks his phone. Only about 25 minutes since the time he last remembers it being. Not bad.

 

Task: blocking

 

Clint’s hyperventilating, shaking and scared. He wants to stop, but he just can’t. He’s in the corner of the little store he’d entered, curled up on the floor, and people are staring, but Clint can’t stop panicking.

 

He was triggered so quickly that Lucky didn’t even have time to alert him. He’d heard a woman’s whispered “Harold, please,” and had immediately been six years old again, on the floor with his eye throbbing from where his dad had hit him.

 

A few people try to approach, and Clint flinches every time, but Lucky stands between him and everyone coming near him, refusing to move even when a few of the people try to push Lucky out of the way. When Lucky shows no sign of letting the people come closer, and Clint doesn’t answer their questions of “hey, are you okay?” the people leave, and Lucky just stays between Clint and the rest of the room, giving him time to breathe.

 

It takes ten minutes for Clint to get his breathing back under control, and he stands, grabbing Lucky’s leash and heading back to the tower, because there’s no way he’s going to accomplish anything right now, and he needs a break.

 

Task: summoning help

 

Clint locks himself in the closet. He’s on the shelf at the top of the closet, bow in hand and quiver of arrows on his back, one arrow already notched. He knows he’s being irrational. He _knows_ that. But he’s scared, and all that matters right now is being safe, quiet, out of the way, where no one can hurt him.

 

Lucky is locked outside of the closet, and Clint can see the dog’s shadow under the door, can see the way the door moves a little when Lucky paws at it. The shadow moves away, and Clint counts out a full four minutes of complete silence in his head when a projection appears near the top of the door, and Clint immediately raises and aims his bow at it.

 

On the screen, Tony raises his hands in surrender, and Clint lowers his bow. “Don’t shoot, I come in peace,” Tony signs, and then he pats his legs(?) and Lucky appears on the screen. “He said you needed help. What’s going on?”

 

“Not safe. I’m not safe,” Clint signs shakily. “It’s not safe.”

 

“Hey, I can’t see you very clearly, it’s dark where you are. Can you have JARVIS turn the lights on a little?”

 

Clint nods, and the lights immediately come up, just enough to illuminate Clint’s face and hands.

 

“Scared. I’m scared. Not safe,” Clint signs again, and Tony nods.

 

“Okay. Why aren’t you safe?”

 

“Him,” Clint signs. “Alive?”

 

“No,” Tony signs back, “Your dad isn’t coming back. Neither is Barney. Swordsman isn’t coming back either.”

 

Clint’s hand twitches towards his bow at the sign names he’d given Barney and Swordsman, but he nods jerkily. “Okay. Can stay here?”

 

He knows he sounds like a child. He knows even his signs are coming across as childish. But he can’t shake the feeling of being a kid again.

 

Tony nods. “Yeah. I’ll have JARVIS keep everyone clear of where you are.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Anytime.”

 

Task: deep pressure therapy (DPT)

 

Clint knows that he has to be here, he has to be at this particular benefit because the organization had specifically requested _all_ of the Avengers, but that doesn’t make it any easier to handle an entire room of drunk strangers.

 

Logically, Clint knows that he’s safe. Hell, he goes to these kinds of events pretty often, and even spends a lot of time drinking in the tower himself, sitting around with the other heroes, but it can still put him on edge, and tonight is one of those nights.

 

He sits down at a table in the corner, Lucky at his side, and he doesn’t even have to say anything for Lucky to put his paws up on Clint’s lap, draping himself across Clint’s legs so his weight is a constant, comforting pressure.

 

“Thanks,” Clint mutters to the dog, scratching Lucky’s side under his vest, and he sits there and breathes for a few minutes, letting Lucky help calm him down. When he stands back up again, he’s feeling at least well enough to interact for a while, and he wanders the room making small talk until the rest of the team is ready to go home, piling into the limo with Tony driving them home.

 

Task: hearing alert, alarm going off

 

Clint usually hears when alarms go off, but it doesn’t always happen. If Clint’s in the tower and an alarm goes off, whether it’s a fire alarm or the alarm to assemble, JARVIS will flash the lights in the room Clint is in. However, if Clint has his eyes closed, is asleep, or is out of the tower somewhere, Lucky immediately alerts to the alarm.

 

That’s exactly what happens when the alarm to assemble goes off while Clint is sleeping on the couch on his personal floor, arm hanging off the side of the couch with his hand resting on Lucky’s side. Lucky jumps up to the alarm, pawing at Clint’s knee, who wakes with a start, looking around to see the room’s lights flashing green.

 

Tony and Clint had come up with colors together; purple for any alarm Clint sets for himself, green for the call to assemble, red for emergencies (fire, earthquake, or anything else). With the green lights flashing, Clint gives Lucky a quick belly rub, then hops off the couch to get suited up for battle.

 

Task: nightmare/night terror intervention

 

_Clint’s body moves of its own volition. He looks over at the mirror beside him, and he can see the unnaturally blue eyes staring back at him. That’s not him, but there’s nothing he can do about it. His brain and body are responding to Loki’s commands whether he wants them to or not._

 

_He walks to a better vantage point, crouches and notches an arrow, pulling the bow taught and ready to fire. The target comes into view. It’s Natasha, and she clearly knows she’s being set up, but she’s here to help Clint._

 

_Just as Clint goes to shoot (he never misses, but he wishes he could right now), someone tackles him from behind, dropping him on his back on the roof. Barney is crouched over him, glaring down at him._

 

_“No one will believe you, so don’t even bother.” Trick Shot leans over him, aiming his own bow and arrow at Clint, and Clint closes his eyes, ready to die, this isn’t the worst way to go out, necessarily, but he’s going to miss Natasha--_

 

Clint wakes with a start, Lucky laying on his chest and licking his face. He reaches up, wrapping his arms around Lucky, who stills, dropping his head down to rest on Clint’s shoulder. Clint holds onto the dog for a moment, taking deep breaths. “Good boy,” he tells Lucky, and Lucky’s tail thwaps against the covers.

 

Clint lets go, and Lucky hops back off the bed, heading over to his own dog bed, and Clint drifts back off to sleep.

 

Task: “who’s there?”

 

Clint keeps hearing Loki’s voice in his dreams, remnants left behind from the mind control, and it bleeds into his day while he’s awake, too. He’s made his peace with Loki himself; after hearing what had happened, the reason for Loki’s invasion, he can’t argue that Loki wasn’t coerced into doing what he did, but subconsciously he’s still afraid.

 

So when Clint hears Loki laugh behind him, he flinches. “Who?” he signs at Lucky, and Lucky perks up, looking around, but quickly settles again. Clint relaxes. Loki’s not in the room, not even a projection of him, so that’s a start. Clint’s just not in the mood to be around him today.

 

Task: hearing alert, sounds of distress

 

Clint doesn’t get to go to Deaf meetups as often as he’d like; being a superhero has its drawbacks, and a busy schedule is often one of them. He does enjoy going though, so he takes every opportunity he has to spend time around the Deaf community.

 

They have Deaf meetups at least twice a month at the local mall’s food court, and Clint takes Lucky with him, signs with the other members of the Deaf community as well as some of the nervous hearing ASL students.

 

On the evening of one Deaf meetup, Clint is walking down the street with Lucky when Lucky stops, pawing at Clint’s knee and staring pointedly down a nearby alley. Confused, Clint walks with Lucky down the alley, and finds a man being held against the wall by three women, one of the women reaching under his clothes while the other two hold him as still as possible.

 

Even without his hearing aids in, Clint can see the man’s mouth moving, calling for help, and he walks towards the group, irritated that no one else has thought to even stop and help. “Hey!” he yells, and it must be loud enough, because all three women turn towards him, the woman that appears to be the leader saying something that Clint can’t make out.

 

“Sorry, you’re going to have to repeat that, I don’t speak rapist. Also I’m Deaf.”

 

The woman glares at him, then makes a dismissive hand gesture, turning back to the guy they were assaulting, who is frozen against the wall, looking torn between running and simply cowering in fear. Clint knows that look. He used to look like that a lot.

 

“Hey, Deaf etiquette 101, don’t turn your back on us,” Clint says, dropping Lucky’s leash and signing a quick “stay” before walking up to the women. One of them jabs him in the nose, and another kicks him directly in the diaphragm, and Clint stumbles back, eyes watering and wheezing to try and get in air.

 

Okay, so they know how to fight. Then Clint doesn’t have to worry about holding back. Good. He looks up, rubbing at his eyes and trying to blink away the blurriness. All three women are focused back on their victim, clearly considering Clint incapacitated. Clint loves proving people wrong.

 

He lunges forward, grabs the closest woman, and pulls her away from the group, pushing hard enough to knock her down so he can address the other two while she stands back up. The other two women have turned back to face him, and now that he’s paying attention, he sees the shift in balance as one of them swings at him.

 

He ducks, kicking out and swiping her legs from under her, standing and dodging just out of range of the third woman’s kick. He follows some of what Bucky’s taught him about street fighting; Bucky might be from the early 1900s, but he’s got good fighting tactics, especially when you’re the larger fighter. That usually doesn’t apply to Clint, not in their line of work, but in this case, it helps.

 

Clint goes for endurance over skill; by taking some of the hits, he can stay closer and hit harder. It takes him about eight minutes to incapacitate all three women; without his hearing aids, he’s got a slight disadvantage, and three against one isn’t great odds anyway, even if you are a superhero.

 

Still, he succeeds, and when all three women are unconscious, he turns back to find the man they were assaulting still standing against the wall, wide eyed.

 

“You okay?” Clint asks, and the guy nods.

 

“Yeah. Thanks,” he says. He says something else, but since Clint doesn’t know the guy and he doesn’t know what to expect, lip reading doesn’t help him whatsoever.

 

“Sorry, can you type that? I really am Deaf,” Clint says, and the guy nods, pulls out his phone and types in a notes app.

 

“Thanks for that. I didn’t think anyone would help,” the note reads, and Clint shrugs.

 

“People are assholes. Clint, by the way.”

 

“Alejandro,” the man types out, and Clint shakes his hand.

 

“Hey, so, are you good? You might want to call the police, but other than that, is there anything I can help with?”

 

Alejandro shakes his head. “No, I’m good. Thank you again,” he types, and Clint nods.

 

“Anytime. Stay safe.” He heads back to the entrance to the alley, where Lucky is waiting patiently for him, holding his own leash in his mouth.

 

“Good boy,” Clint signs, taking the leash, and they continue on their way to the Deaf meetup. A few people there ask about Clint’s bloody knuckles, but they just shake their heads and tell him to be more careful when he tells them the story.

 

Task: anxiety alerts

 

Clint doesn’t realize how anxious he’s getting until Lucky nudges his knee, placing his head in Clint’s lap. Clint looks down, frowning as he realizes that he’s bouncing his leg without realizing it. He stops, taking a deep breath and trying to think back to when he started getting anxious in the first place.

 

It takes a minute to realize that it had started a few hours ago when he’d been practicing in the range earlier and one of his shots had strayed about half an inch off of his intended target. It wasn’t a huge problem, it would still be counted as a hit and not a miss, but it left Clint feeling vaguely unsettled.

 

Then he’d realized that one of his hearing aids had died, and replacing the battery hadn’t fixed the problem, so he’d had to drop off his hearing aids with Tony to fix them, because where one breaks the other is likely to follow, and then he’d just been a little on edge, even if he knew that Lucky had his back.

 

Huh. Clint really had missed all of those signs. Even spies mess up. He patted his lap, and Lucky hopped up on the couch with him, curling up on Clint’s legs, and Clint relaxed again, focusing on just the feel of Lucky’s chest rising and falling against his legs instead of anything else.

 

Task: “got my six?”

 

Clint’s used to constantly feeling a little on edge, it comes with the territory of being a known hero (though, realistically, Clint was rarely recognized, but it’s not like Clint could convince his PTSD of _that_ ). But when he’s stuck doing press statements, as much as he trusts the organizers to keep him safe, he also likes having some kind of reassurance of that.

 

So before he has to speak, he turns to Lucky. “Got my six?” he signs, and the dog walks around to sit behind him, Lucky’s back pressed against the back of Clint’s legs. As Clint speaks, his gaze scans side to side across the crowd, checking for threats, and he can feel Lucky moving minutely behind him, head also moving side to side.

 

Even though all Lucky’s doing is moving his head, and he has no training to protect Clint (and has, in fact, been taught to be completely non-reactive), Clint still feels safer having Lucky looking behind them. It helps, and if it helps, Clint’s not going to argue it.

 

Task: hearing alert, phone ringing

 

Clint mostly uses his phone for texting and different apps, but he leaves his phone open to actual calls as well. He uses actual calls for when one of the other heroes is in trouble and needs help quickly, and either can’t text or needs an immediate reply. Usually, they’ll call Clint to get his attention, and once he answers, they switch to text.

 

Clint’s taking a nap on the communal floor couch when Lucky wakes him up by pawing at his leg, pointing over at the coffee table, where Clint’s phone is vibrating and flashing. Cling picks it up, a phone call from Matt. He answers the call. “Hello?” he says groggily, and Matt hangs up, so Clint waits for the text, which comes in seconds later.

 

**Dumpster Pal (and a Snack™)** : Locked in a warehouse, 10th and West 50th. Help?

 

Clint sighs, pulling his shoes out from under the couch and sliding them on.

 

**Clint** : Sure. Be there in 15.

 

**Dumpster Pal (and a Snack™)** : You’re the best.


	2. Tony and Diva

Tony enters the room with his best press smile on his face, Diva trotting beside him. “Dr. Samara! It’s good to see you. Is that a new hijab? Turquoise is definitely your color.”

 

Dr. Samara smiles. “Observant as always, Tony. But we both know we’re not here to discuss clothing choices. So do you want to tell me how your therapy homework went this week? Did you try talking to Bucky about making more adjustments to his arm?”

 

Tony’s smile falters, and he drops onto the couch with a sigh, Diva curling up at his feet. “No. I didn’t. What if it comes off as rude? I don’t want him to think that I only see him as a project, not a person.”

 

“This is how you show love, Tony, both platonic and romantic. Your love language is gifts. I don’t think it will come off as rude. But if you’re really worried about that, let’s talk about ways to make your intentions clear.”

 

Tony nods. “Yeah, that’d be good.”

 

“Okay. So, you’re worried it will look like you’re treating Bucky as a project and not a person, right? Maybe when you ask him if you can make adjustments, ask if there’s anything that’s been bothering him with the arm lately, or say that you’d like to make adjustments so it’s even more comfortable for him. Then it’s more obvious that you’re doing this to help him, not just to mess with the arm.”

 

* * *

 

A week later, Tony goes back for his next therapy session. Each person has a different schedule for their appointments; Clint has three hour sessions once a month, Bucky has three hour sessions once a week, Tony has one hour sessions once a week, and so on.

 

Tony walks in with all of his normal confidence and then some, Diva beside him. “Bucky said yes,” he tells Dr. Samara as soon as he enters the room. “But of course he did, who wouldn’t trust a Stark with technology.”

 

Dr. Samara smiles. “That’s great, Tony, I’m really glad you talked to him. How has the rest of your week been?”

 

Tony shrugs, sprawling across the couch, and Diva stretches out on the floor beside him. “Oh, you know, the usual. Partying, inventing, partying, working, partying, have I mentioned partying?”

 

Dr. Samara watches Tony as he talks, notices the way he’s tapping one hand absentmindedly on the arc reactor, other hand patting a rhythm against his thigh. Tony’s looking anywhere besides at Dr. Samara, and he keeps glancing back at the doorway like he’s expecting some to barge in.

 

“You have mentioned that. Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?” Dr. Samara asks, and Tony frowns at the ceiling.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He’s clearly trying for casual, but his tone comes off more panicky than uninterested.

 

“Uh huh. You’re not looking at me. You want to tell me what you’re afraid of finding if you look at me?”

 

Tony takes a shaky breath. Diva puts his head in Tony’s lap, and Tony plays with Diva’s ears. “It’s nothing. Really.”

 

Dr. Samara watches Tony for a moment. “So, are you scared that I’m going to leave if you tell me the truth? Because I’ll be honest with you, Tony, I’m not going anywhere. And it’s not just because of the big paycheck you give me every time we talk. I’m more invested in your wellbeing than I am in your money.”

 

Tony laughs, turning his head to look at Dr. Samara. “You definitely read me better than even the spies. How do you manage that?”

 

“Stubbornness and years of training and student debt?”

 

“Fair enough.” Tony takes a deep breath. “It’s hard talking to Bucky. I mean, I don’t think he’s a bad person, I can’t really judge him for what he did when he was brainwashed, but. Well, looking at him is like a constant reminder that Steve chose him over me. And I get it, I really do! I would kill for Rhodey, so I get it. But…”

 

“But it’s hard to cope with being directly confronted with the fact that you’re not someone’s first priority,” Dr. Samara finishes for him..

 

“Exactly.” Tony thinks about it for a minute. “It might also have something to do with Howard.”

 

“Yeah? What about him?”

 

Diva climbs all the way into Tony’s lap, and Tony wraps an arm around the dog. “When I see Bucky, I see the video. And it’s not even that I’m mad at him for it anymore. I'm really not. But I just remember hearing the news and wishing that…” Tony sniffs, trying to hold back his tears.

 

“I wish my mom had stayed home. If it was just Howard, I think I could have been okay. Hell, I might have been even better than before. But losing my mom tore me apart. I needed her, and then she was just gone. And I wish I could have confronted my dad. I don’t know, there’s just something there.” Diva’s fallen asleep on Tony’s chest, snoring lightly. Tony has no intention of moving him.

 

“If I could take a guess, I’d say you would have wanted closure. Proof that your dad knew what he’d done was wrong, proof that you weren’t just imagining things.”

 

Tony nods. “Yeah. Exactly. But it’s not like I can just complain about him now. Not when Steve cared so much about him. Not when Bucky still feels so guilty for what happened.”

 

“Unfortunately, we’re coming to the end of our session, so here’s my homework for you. Think about what you’d want to tell Steve and Bucky, if you could be totally honest with them. Write that down somewhere, and bring it back next session so we can talk about it, and maybe we can figure out a way to tell them what you want to say while making it as easy as possible for you to say it and for them to hear it.”

 

Tony nods again. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Mona.”

 

“Anytime, Tony. I’m not going anywhere. Well, I’m leaving the room right now, but I’ll be back next week, and the week after that.” Dr. Samara leaves, and Tony drops his head on the couch, opting to just lay there for a little while before moving again.

 

* * *

 

Diva jumps into Tony’s lap while Tony’s in a Stark Industries meeting, sitting on Tony’s lap and resting his head on the table in front of them, and Tony sighs, because first of all, he’s doing fine, and second, Diva’s not supposed to put his head on tables, which means Diva’s having one of his bad days.

 

“Sorry, folks, but apparently we need to call it a day. Do what you can without me, and Pepper, you can send me notes of what I need to do?”

 

Pepper nods. “Not a problem. We’ll see you later, Tony.”

 

Tony points down at the floor. “Off, Diva.” Diva hops off his lap, and Tony stands, doing up the second button of his suit. “Folks.”

 

He leaves, Diva bumping against his leg affectionately as they walk, and Tony shakes his head. “You’re a completely dork, and your name is appropriate. Let’s go home and eat ice cream. I haven’t had a sundae in a while.” Diva seems perfectly content with that idea.

 

* * *

 

Task: nightmare/night terror intervention

 

_“Stark! Help!” Steve’s voice calls through the coms. “We’re cornered down here!”_

 

_“On my way!” Tony yells back, and he tries to move the suit, tries to look around, but everything is dark, and he can’t move, the HUD isn’t working, and there’s stars above him, and no, no, Tony has to get back down there, he has to help, he has to, he has to help them--_

 

_He’s falling. The stars are getting farther and farther away, and Tony can’t move, he can’t get the suit to respond, he’s suffocating, he’s running out of air, he can’t die, he was supposed to help, he was supposed to make things right--_

 

Tony wakes up, scrambling back until his back hits the headboard of his bed. He’s hyperventilating, because  _he can’t get enough air in, he needs air,_ and then there’s something on top of him, and he flails for a moment before he recognizes the something that just tackled him. Diva.

 

Tony clings to the dog, wraps his arms around Diva’s middle and pulls him closer, and Diva goes willingly, drops into Tony’s lap and licks Tony’s elbow while Tony tries to calm down. It takes about seven minutes for Tony to let go of Diva, and another three for him to really process his surroundings, silence the screaming voice in the back of his head that tells him he’s in danger.

 

When Tony’s finally calmed down, he collapses back onto the bed, curling back under the covers. Diva lays down beside him, and Tony rests one arm over Diva’s chest, falls asleep to Diva’s steady heartbeat.

 

Task: guiding from environment

 

Tony’s at a charity event, a gathering of multiple charities to explain their cause and try to raise money, and he’s wandering the room with Diva in his harness beside him, holding loosely onto the pull strap on Diva’s harness to help keep him grounded. He’s talking to other potential benefactors when the topic comes up.

 

“It’s really unfortunate,” one of the people Tony’s talking to says, “The World Organisation Against Torture doesn’t get enough credit for their work. They do so much to help survivors of torture, especially when so many torture survivors are afraid to reach out and get help.”

 

“Exactly,” someone else says, “Can you imagine that? Being tortured and not knowing where to turn?”

 

Tony feels sick. Sure, he never told anyone what happened in Afghanistan, there’s no way that the people he’s talking to could know what effect their words are having. But Tony has the distinct image of being drowned in his head, the unshakeable cold of the cave, the way that even standing by a fire didn’t help, not when he had to be so careful that the metal in his chest didn’t burn his skin.

 

Tony vaguely registers movement, but he doesn’t fully process what’s happening until he’s standing in front of the door leading out of the event, the doorman staring at him in confusion.

 

“Mr. Stark? Are you alright?”

 

Tony shakes his head to clear it, then looks at the doorman, smiling. “Of course. I just realized that I have something I forgot to take care of back in my workshop. If you’ll excuse me.”

 

He lets Diva lead him out of the building and back to the car. Tony turns the car on, leaving it in park and turning the heater and heated seats up and climbing into the backseat with Diva, laying down across the backseat and trying to breathe.

 

“Good job,” he tells Diva a little while later, moving both of them to the front seat and driving home. “Thanks for getting me out of there, kiddo.”

 

The next day, Tony donates a million dollars to each of the organizations that was present at the event, and sends his apologies to each of them for leaving so soon. Just because he has his own issues doesn’t mean he’s going to ignore other people’s.

 

Task: anger intervention

 

Tony can handle a lot of things, but eventually, he snaps. Certain things are more likely to piss him off than others; being told he’s not good enough, being told he’s nothing without the suit, when other people are threatened, when other people are put in danger because of someone else’s carelessness, when people he cares about almost die because of their own carelessness.

 

The latter is what pisses Tony off today. “Don’t fucking start,” he warns Peter, but of course the boy doesn’t listen.

 

“Mr. Stark, you don’t understand--”

 

“No!  _You_ don’t understand. Do not fucking pretend to know what you’re doing. Christ, kid, you need to think before you act! I know you meant well, but you could have died. You know that, right? You realize how dangerous what you did was?” Diva nudges at Tony’s hip. Tony ignores him.

 

Peter grits his teeth. “And what was I supposed to do? Just stand back and watch it happen? I wasn’t going to let people die!” Araneus blocks between the two of them, looking at Tony.

 

Tony’s going to respond when Diva gets in a particularly strong nudge, and he’s left stumbling back a step, Diva pressing his weight against Tony’s legs to keep him back. Tony huffs.

 

“Fine! I’m walking away, because I shouldn’t be here right now. I’m leaving. We’ll talk later.”

 

Tony leaves, Diva a half step behind him to make sure he doesn’t turn back, and they go down to Tony’s workshop.

 

Later, when Tony’s calmed down, he thinks back over his conversation with Peter, and feels like shit for it. JARVIS tells him that Peter is still on the communal floor, so Tony heads up there to make apologies, and to get Diva some treats, because Diva did a great job, and he deserves a reward for that.

 

Task: deep pressure therapy (DPT)

 

Tony can’t sleep. Which, in itself, isn’t unusual, but it’s gotten easier with Diva’s help. So when Tony tosses and turns for two hours and still can’t sleep, he sighs, rolling over to lay on his back. “Diva, happy,” he says, and Diva moves across the bed, drapes himself over Tony with a gentle, huffing breath.

 

Tony laughs. “Yeah, I know, I’m so demanding, I’m going to disturb your beauty sleep, huh?” He pats Diva’s side. “Thanks, bud.”

 

Task: blocking

 

For the most part, Tony can take care of himself, both in and out of the suit. Sure, he doesn’t have quite the same graceful skill of Natasha, Clint, Matt, or Danny, or the sheer strength of Steve, Bucky, Luke, or Jessica, but he can hold his own in a fight.

 

This does not, however, apply when Tony’s in a not-strictly-dangerous situation. And this is not, strictly, a dangerous situation. It’s just an NA meeting, because Tony had decided years ago to give up any other drugs, even if he kept drinking.

 

Drinking was one thing; for the most part, he could limit himself. But some of the drugs he’d done at parties over the years had stuck, and it had been hard for Tony to shake them. Fighting the urge can still be difficult.

 

The sit down part of the meeting is over, people just wandering around drinking juice and eating pastries while they talk, and Tony is talking to a nonbinary person who had introduced herself as Gina when Diva steps away from Tony’s side, standing behind him instead.

 

Tony turns to find a woman frowning down at Diva. “Sorry,” Tony says, “part of his training. PTSD sucks.”

 

The woman’s expression softens, and she nods. “Yeah, that’s fair. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

 

Tony turns to include the woman in the conversation, and he scratches Diva behind the ears for doing a good job.

 

Task: counterbalance

 

Tony’s not always steady on his feet. Once upon a time, he would have joked about too many drugs, but if he’s being completely honest with himself, he just tends to be unsteady due to anxiety or lack of sleep, and without drugs as a cover, his excuse now is the damage from the arc reactor. It’s not strictly true, though any potential damage from the arc reactor does tend to cause him anxiety.

 

Regardless of the reason, it helps for Tony to have something steadying his gait. Attached to Diva’s harness is a soft, semi-rigid handle that Tony uses from time to time, when he’s feeling particularly unsteady on his feet.

 

He holds onto the handle as they walk into SHIELD headquarters for a briefing, and as he starts to lean to one side, Diva leans the other way, helping to keep Tony walking upright. Tony scratches the top of Diva’s head in thanks as they settle down in the meeting room, Diva curling up at his feet.

 

Task: anxiety alert/response

 

Life is never easy as a public figure, even less so as a public superhero on a team of public superheroes. Someone (or more accurately, multiple someones) shoot at them while they’re all out to dinner at a Chili’s. Fucking typical. At least they’d rented out the restaurant so the only civilians were the staff.

 

Still, one of the staff members had gotten injured and needed to be rushed to the hospital. When the fight had begun, once the animal’s nanosuits had been activated, Steve had given Jessica Tony’s keys so she could grab the limo while the rest of them fought. Tony had protested this fact, but Rhodey wasn’t there to back him up, so it didn’t become evident why until they were piled in the limo headed to the hospital, Jessica driving.

 

Diva started alerting as soon as Tony climbed in the back, and Bruce frowned.

 

“Tony, are you okay?” he asked, and Tony shook his head, hands tapping a weak, stuttering rhythm against his sides.

 

“Cars, I can’t… I always drive,” he gasped out between breaths, and he patted his lap, Diva hopping up and licking his face to try and keep him focused on something else.

 

“What…?” Clint starts, but Natasha swears.

 

“Damn it. I should have realized. His parents. The Hummers in Afghanistan. The race car.”

 

Bucky pales. “Can we help him at this point?”

 

Sam shakes his head. “No. He’ll recover when the car stops. He’s already too far in at this point, and Diva’s his best chance to feel better. If we interact before the car stops, we’ll make it worse.”

 

They pull Tony out of the car when they stop at the hospital, and Bruce stays with him, Diva in Tony’s lap and Smash in Bruce’s, until Tony recovers enough to join everyone else inside.

 

Task: summoning help

 

He should have been fine. He knows that, logically, but it doesn’t stop the emotional response he had anyway. He’d fucked something up in the workshop, accidentally covered himself in a flammable substance, and needed to wash it off, quick.

 

He has a shower in the workshop, specifically for that purpose, but it’s not programmed the way the one in the bathroom on his floor is, and he needs to scrub his face clean too, so he doesn’t have a choice, but it sends him into flashbacks anyway.

 

_There’s hands holding his head underwater, hands on his shoulders keeping him on his knees in front of the bucket. When they let his head up, he splutters, gasps in air as fast as he can, doesn’t beg or plead. At least, not at first._

 

_Somewhere around the forty minute mark he starts begging for them to stop, begs for mercy. Yinsen translates for him, tells him that the response is “This only stops one of two ways. Compliance, or death.”_

 

_They dunk him for the next forty minutes, until he finally agrees to their demands, and by the time it’s over, he’s shivering, flinching every time water drips from his hair onto the skin around the reactor._

 

“Christ, Tony, breathe!”

 

Tony opens his eyes, finds bright blue ones staring back at him, and it takes him a moment to figure out why that’s important. Right. Because none of his captors in Afghanistan had those. But he knows a few people in the tower that do, and only one that he granted full access to the lab.

 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps out, and Bucky lets go of him, shoulders slumping in relief.

 

“At least you’re back with me now. Damn it, Tony, I’ve been avoiding heart attacks from Steve’s crazy bullshit for years, do I have to add you to that list?”

 

Tony laughs. “Really? You haven’t added me by now?”

 

“Well, maybe. But that’s besides the point. Are you okay?”

 

Tony nods. “Yeah, just. Flashbacks, you know? Diva come get you?”

 

Bucky nods. “Yeah. Do me a favor, have JARVIS send him to Steve instead? I’m too old for this shit.”

 

Tony laughs. “Yeah, sure grandpa. Now give me a hand up? You might have over 60 years on me, but my joints aren’t getting any younger.”

 

Task: providing rescue medication

 

Tony doesn’t use medications consistently; he drinks alcohol a little too often for that to be safe. He does, however, have anxiety medication that he can take as needed. He doesn’t take it if he’s been drinking recently, but it does help on occasion.

 

Today is one of those days, because a conversation with Clint had gotten a little dark when Clint mentioned how his father was abusive, and Tony, decently sleep deprived and vulnerable, had started thinking about Howard, and it had spiraled from there.

 

Tony’s curled up on the floor of his closet, shaking, when Diva brings his medication bottle to him, dropping it in Tony’s lap. Tony puts one of the pills under his tongue, letting it dissolve, and he hugs Diva. “Good job, kid.”

 

Task: forward momentum

 

Almost as often as Tony needs Diva for counterbalance, he also needs him to help Tony walk. Tony finds himself exhausted more often than he’d like to admit, and even just walking can be a struggle. Along with the counterbalance handle on Diva’s harness is a pull strap, a soft strip of fabric that Tony holds onto.

 

On another trip to a children’s hospital, Tony finds himself too tired and distracted to focus on walking, so he holds onto the pull strap, Diva gently pulling him along so he doesn’t have to focus as much on just walking.

 

When they reach the room that they’re going to stay in for a while, Tony lets go of the pull strap, petting Diva’s head in thanks as he settles into a chair in the room.

 

Task: grounding in dissociation

 

It’s too hot. That’s what Tony reflects on as he lays on the beach, the rest of the team playing in the water. He’d wanted to argue about coming out here in the first place, because sand and heat and water are all things he’s not a fan of, but everyone had looked so excited to come here that Tony hadn’t had the heart to say no.

 

So here he is, laying on hot sand, trying to figure out which is worse, the sand or the water. The water, he decides, because at least he can’t drown on the sand. But the memories are making him dissociate, and he keeps missing chunks of time or he sees himself as if in third person, as if he’s not actually in his own body.

 

Then Diva walks over and lays down beside him, licking Tony’s face, and that helps. It helps Tony feel like he’s actually part of the world, actually in his own body. He gives Diva belly rubs as Diva keeps licking his face, and he giggles when Diva licks his ear.

 

“Gross,” he tells the dog, but Diva shows no signs of caring, and Tony can’t say that he’s upset about it.

 

Task: self harm interruption

 

Tony knows he should have stopped ten glasses of scotch ago. He chooses to keep drinking anyway, working on a few new specialty arrows for Clint.

 

He’s humming to himself, using a screwdriver to adjust the finer mechanisms in the arrow points, and he doesn’t even realize he’s bouncing the point of the screwdriver against his wrist until Diva comes up and shoves his elbow, knocking the screwdriver out of Tony’s hand.

 

“What the hell?” Tony asks, words slurring together, and then he sees the tiny indent on his wrist where the screwdriver’s been hitting it, how if he keeps going much longer he’ll actually pierce the skin.

 

“Whoops,” he mumbles, then sighs. “Okay, fine, it’s time for bed. Thanks, Diva.”

 

Diva stays a few steps behind him as they leave the workshop, like he’s trying to make sure Tony doesn’t turn back or accidentally pick something else up, and Tony ignores it, just heads to bed and crawls in without bothering to change clothes or take off his socks.

 

He falls asleep to the sound of Diva snoring.


	3. Bruce and Smash

Smash enters the room first, goes back out to nudge Bruce’s hand, and then she and Bruce enter the room together.

 

“Hi Aaron!” Bruce says, taking a seat on the couch. He sits almost folded in on himself, like he’s scared of taking up too much space, and as a result it almost looks like the couch is swallowing him. Despite his curled up posture, his hands flap lightly in his lap, and his left leg bounces, Smash sitting on Bruce’s right side with her head on his non-bouncing leg.

 

“Hi Bruce,” Aaron greets, smiling. “Anything interesting happening in your world over the last two weeks?”

 

Bruce smiles, nodding. “Yeah! I mean, when aren’t things interesting, I’m in a tower filled with superheroes, but I was working on a new experiment, right, and I’m really, really close to a new breakthrough, and Aaron, I’m telling you, this is going to be so important if it works out, like, there’s so so many applications of this across the board!”

 

As he’s been talking, Bruce’s hands have started to flap more and more, and when Bruce notices, his smile wavers, and he lowers his hands to his lap, stilling his movements.

 

Aaron notices, nodding his head at Bruce’s hands. “You know it’s always okay if you stim, Bruce, not just in here, but always. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

 

Bruce nods jerkily, and taps his fingers on his knees. “Yeah, right. Right. I’m really close on this experiment, I’m really hoping it works out.”

 

Aaron nods. “I’m sure you’ll do great. But how much have you been eating and sleeping the past two weeks?”

 

Bruce pauses, head tilting to the side. “Uhh… I think I’ve eaten at least twice a day? Wait, no, maybe once a day… actually, I can’t remember the last time I ate. And I’ve slept at least a few hours each night, or… no, actually, I think the last time I slept was last Thursday.”

 

Aaron shakes his head. “You’re a science dork, Banner, but you still need to take care of your basic needs, super genius or not.”

 

Bruce nods, smiling a little. “Yeah, I know.”

 

“In that case, why don’t we go make some lunch for the rest of session? Last time I got you to cook, you made a mean chicken curry, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t angling for some of that right now.”

 

Bruce laughs, standing up and following Aaron out to the communal floor kitchen. “Yeah, I can make some. That does sound pretty good.”

 

* * *

 

Despite Bruce’s exceptional control over his emotions, sometimes he still gets triggered faster than he can prevent, or sometimes Hulk just hasn’t fronted in a while and chooses to take over for a little bit, and on occasion, when Bruce has had a really good week, Aaron asks if Bruce would let Hulk front so Aaron can help him process trauma.

 

Bruce, contrary to what most people would think, does not have much to talk about in therapy, because he doesn’t remember much of the trauma from his childhood, with Hulk instead having become the primary trauma holder for him, which means Hulk is the one who often needs help with trauma symptoms.

 

This week, Hulk is already fronting when Aaron shows up for their appointment, JARVIS directing him to the field behind the tower where Hulk and Smash are playing tag, running around each other in circles with Hulk gently touching Smash to tag her and Smash full body slamming into Hulk’s leg to tag him back.

 

“Hi Hulk!” Aaron greets as he approaches, and Hulk looks over, grinning.

 

“Brain man! Play with us?” Smash looks over too, a doggy grin on her face.

 

Aaron shrugs. “Sure! But I’m not a big fan of running. Can we play something calmer?”

 

Hulk grunts. “Sandbox?”

 

“Yep, if you want to,” Aaron says, and Hulk nods, starts heading towards the sandbox Tony had made for him when Aaron had suggested the idea of sand tray therapy for Hulk. The sandbox is the size of a large sand pit that kids could play in, and in the box are random toys and figurines.

 

Smash follows Hulk to the pit, and when Hulk sits cross legged in front of the sandbox, Smash climbs up to sleep draped across his knee, Aaron sitting across from them and watching as Hulk sets up the figures in the box the way he wants them.

 

When Hulk is done, scooting back from the box, Aaron walks around it, taking note of where all the figurines are placed, how they’re posed.

 

“Good job, Hulk,” Aaron says, standing across from Hulk again. “Can you tell me more about the man surrounded by the other figures?”

 

“People like man. He’s smart.”

 

“And why are two of the figures by themselves in opposite corners?”

 

“Because man separate them, and can’t reach. Aren’t liked.”

 

Aaron nods. “Why do you think they’re not liked?”

 

Hulk stares down at his hands, tapping the backs of his hands together lightly. “Don’t listen. Do things they shouldn’t.”

 

“Do you think they’re bad people?”

 

Hulk hesitates, looks up at Aaron, staring at his face and waiting for a second. “No?”

 

Aaron nods. “You’re right, they’re not bad people. Just because people mess up or do things a little differently doesn’t automatically make them bad, and it doesn’t mean they should be hated either. Does that make sense?”

 

Hulk nods, even though his eyebrows furrow like he’s not sure.

 

“Okay. Just remember that, okay?” Aaron pauses, thinking. “So, you’ve been playing with Smash for a while, right? Do you want to eat something?”

 

Hulk perks up, nodding. “Cake?”

 

Aaron laughs. “Yeah, sure. What kind do you like? I’m sure Tony can get you some in minutes.”

 

* * *

 

Bruce and Smash are out at the mall shopping for clothes, because no matter how many times Tony offers to buy custom tailored clothing or design all of Bruce’s clothes himself, Bruce still prefers just being able to wander around and pick out his clothes himself.

 

They’re walking into a store when another service dog team starts to walk out, and Smash gets excited, pulling slightly towards the other dog. Bruce catches her in time, grabs the short leash from on top of Smash’s harness and pulls her into a tighter heel. The other team barely seems to notice, and Bruce sighs in relief.

 

“Okay, we’re not doing that again. Let’s go home, Smash,” Bruce says, turning them back around and heading for the bus stop, because he’s absolutely not going to have Smash distract another team in her excitement.

 

They get home, and Bruce locates one of the other off-duty teams in the tower so Smash can burn some energy with another dog.

 

* * *

 

Task: clearing a room

 

While many of the service animals know how to clear a room for their handlers, Bruce is the only one who uses the command consistently; logically, Bruce knows that he has good control over his and Hulk’s switching, and he knows that he has good control over his emotions most of the time, but his heart still pounds when he goes to enter a room, and having Smash check the room first helps Bruce feel safer, both for himself and others.

 

Bruce watches as Smash steps into the small coffee shop, moving out of sight, then comes back, nudging Bruce’s hand gently. Bruce scratches her lightly behind the ears, and they enter the coffee shop together.

 

Task: summoning help

 

Bruce shivers, curled in on himself in the hallway at SHIELD and unable to move or speak. Just the thought of moving makes his heart race, so he stays where he is, doesn’t make a sound, keeps his face buried in his knees and hopes that the panic goes away.

 

It doesn’t, but he hears the rapid click of nails on the floor, running away. Bruce stays put, focuses on trying to tune out the voice saying “just lie” that keeps switching between a man and a woman’s voice. He can’t tell who they are, can’t focus long enough to pin the voices down, but he knows that he doesn’t want to lie, he can’t, he  _can’t_.

 

The click of nails and the heavy sound of footsteps approaches. Bruce flinches as the footsteps stop a few feet away from him, as a warm, heavy presence leans gently against his side.

 

A woman’s voice speaks. “Dr. Banner, it’s Agent Sosa. Smash came to get me. You look frightened.”

 

Bruce nods jerkily, a small movement behind his knees.

 

“Okay. You’re in SHIELD headquarters. I’m guessing you’re having either a panic attack or a flashback. I need you to focus, okay? We’re going to see what we can do to help you through this.”

 

Agent Sosa sits down on the floor across from Bruce, walking him through a series of yes or no questions. It helps Bruce focus, helps him realize what he’s doing and why he’s here, and after 10 minutes of talking Bruce finally looks up from his knees, blinks as his eyes adjust and Agent Sosa comes into view.

 

“Great job, Dr. Banner. Feeling a little better?”

 

Bruce nods, then feels his face heat up with embarrassment at the scene he’s sure he’s made. Agent Sosa just smiles.

 

“I’m glad. Do you think you can make it home from here?”

 

Bruce stands, nodding. Agent Sosa stands as well.

 

“Okay. Be safe, okay?”

 

Bruce nods, and he and Smash head for the bus stop, going home. On the bus, Smash rests her head on Bruce’s lap, and Bruce leans down to plant a kiss on her head, smiling. He’ll have to talk to Natasha later about the whole lying thing, but for now he just wants to rest.

 

Task: blocking

 

Bruce hates being touched. Part of it is because of his trauma; being touched is frightening, it makes him feel vulnerable and causes his heart to pound uncomfortably in his chest. The other part of it is Bruce’s sensory issues, with touch just being far too overwhelming for him, making him restless and leaving his brain screaming in discomfort.

 

So when Bruce is in the kitchen making chile verde at 1am, half asleep from too many hours in the lab, Smash stands behind him, her side resting lightly against the back of Bruce’s legs to let him know that she’s there. Bruce turns, smiles at Tony standing behind him, Diva standing at Tony’s side.

 

“Can’t sleep?” Bruce asks, and Tony nods.

 

“Yeah, rough night. Mind if we join you?”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “Not at all. Chile verde?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Bruce reaches down to pat Smash’s side for a job well done, then turns back to cooking his curry.

 

Task: medication retrieval

 

Usually Bruce is okay, but occasionally the lack of sleep and manic or depressive episodes catch up to him, and the results can vary wildly. Today, the result is the strange shadowy figure standing at the edge of Bruce’s vision, waving occasionally.

 

“Go away,” Bruce mumbles, hunched over the cup of coffee he’s nursing in the lab, but the figure continues to wave, and Bruce sighs, closes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair.

 

He’s still curled up, eyes closed, when there’s a rattling sound and something wet nudges his hand. He opens his eyes and smiles at Smash, takes the pill container from her and swallows one of the pills with a sip of coffee.

 

“Good job,” he says, downing the rest of his cup and standing. “Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

 

Smash trots happily beside him to the bedroom, curling up on the bed beside him.

 

Task: deep pressure therapy

 

Bruce hates crowded events. It’s hot, loud, and there’s always too many people and too much happening for him to keep track of. Pride festivals are no different; and sure, Bruce likes going, he likes the positive energy and comforting feeling of community, but it’s also stressful.

 

He’s just decided that he might need to leave, nails digging into his palms trying to keep it together, when Smash nudges him over to an empty patch of grass, pushing at him until he lays down, Smash draping herself across his body.

 

The weight helps, and Bruce wraps his arms around Smash, steadying his breathing until he no longer feels like he’s suffocating. He scratches Smash behind the ears, tapping her side gently to get her to stand, and then they’re back up and moving, looking around for Steve.

 

Task: anger/anxiety alerts

 

Bruce’s anger and anxiety tend to overlap a lot, and now is one of those times. The team is arguing about the best plan for the current mission, and the more they argue the more frustrated Bruce becomes. He has a good idea for a plan, but Steve, Tony, and Thor won’t shut up long enough to hear him out.

 

“Hey,” he tries again, but no one acknowledges him. Smash paws at his leg, but Bruce ignores her. His input is important this time, he needs them to listen.

 

“Hey!” he shouts, and Tony turns, noticing him even as Steve and Thor continue to argue. “I have an idea,” he says, and Tony nods, turns back to the other two.

 

“Guys, Bruce has something to say,” Tony says, but he’s drowned out by Steve, and Bruce huffs.

 

“Hey! Do either of you know how to shut the fuck up long enough to listen to your own goddamn team, or do you have to keep acting like five year olds?” he snaps, stepping forward and shoving Steve and Thor apart, startling them both enough that they stumble back a step or two.

 

Smash is on Bruce in an instant, pushing him back and whining. Bruce rolls his eyes, even as his heart races.

 

“I need a minute, and then I can tell you how we’re doing this.”

 

Bruce walks away without waiting for a reply, because he needs to get himself under control if he’s going to talk to them calmly.

 

Task: grounding

 

No matter how necessary they are, Bruce has always been uncomfortable in interviews. It feels too much like being asked questions on a witness stand, and interviewers tend to ask Bruce questions that he doesn’t feel safe answering.

 

The interviewer today is smiling kindly, but Bruce doesn’t trust him, doesn’t trust any interviewer.

 

“So, Bruce, your father’s trial is public record. What happened, exactly, in your childhood?”

 

And that’s exactly why Bruce doesn’t trust interviewers.

 

“Well, there was. My father wasn’t. I…” There’s sharp feelings of panic that Bruce can’t identify the source of, and the room starts to blur, everything a rush of confusing stimuli. Smash stands from where she was laying on Bruce’s feet, climbing up to sit on Bruce’s lap and lick his face and hands, putting one paw on Bruce’s chest as if steadying herself.

 

It takes a few minutes for everything to come into focus again, and when it does, Bruce blinks slowly, drops his head to rest his forehead against Smash’s chest. She stops, hopping back off of the chair to lay at Bruce’s feet.

 

Bruce uses his sleeve to wipe off his face, takes off his glasses and cleans them on the hem of his sweater. The interviewer is staring at him, confused, and Bruce stands, Smash standing with him.

 

“I’m not finishing this interview. Have a good day.”

 

Bruce leaves, the interviewer spluttering in the room behind him.

 

Task: modified block; for switching

 

The code green is sudden, and it’s over almost as quickly as it began, so Smash is sent out to help find and calm down Hulk. She finds him easily, and Hulk smiles when he sees her.

 

“Smash!” he calls, dropping one of his hands to rest on the ground. Smash immediately leaps into his hand, bouncing excitedly in his hand as he lifts her up to eye level, Hulk laughing as she licks his face.

 

Hulk pets her head, careful to be as gentle as possible, and then he sets her down again, smiling.

 

“Okay, Banner come back now.” Hulk sits cross legged on the ground, and a moment later he starts to shrink down, leaving Bruce curled up in a heap where Hulk had been. Smash rushes forward, standing over him and looking around, waiting for one of the other Avengers team members to arrive.

 

Bruce starts to wake up just as Clint arrives, carrying a bundle of clothes and Smash’s harness, grinning. “Hey doc, ready to go?”

 

Smash steps off to the side, and Bruce nods, pulling on the clothes while Clint puts on Smash’s harness. “Yeah, thanks Clint. Thanks Smash.”

 

Smash gives Bruce her best doggy grin, dropping into a heel as Bruce grips the handle of her harness and they start the walk home.

 

Task: guiding from environment

 

Bruce is used to people, especially kids, running up to talk to him about Hulk. He’s used to being asked every question from “do you become bulletproof” to “does it hurt,” and he’s used to being asked to do the famous roar, even though he’s not capable of doing it himself. However, he’d at least expected to get asked less questions about Hulk while at a science convention.

 

He’s there as a guest, just curious to see what new things are being invented and worked on in the various fields, and he’s headed to listen to a panel on molecular reconfiguration when someone taps his shoulder from behind.

 

“Dr. Banner?”

 

Bruce turns, head tilted slightly. “Yes?”

 

There’s three men standing behind him, looking like they’re ready to burst with excitement.

 

“Is it true you worked on the gamma radiation projects and that’s what caused the Hulk?” one of them asks, and Bruce shrugs.

 

“Well, I did work on gamma radiation, but that’s not what caused Hulk to exist, if that’s what you’re asking,” he says, and one of the other men nods.

 

“Dr. Banner, isn’t it actually true that you have multiple personalities? And the Hulk is just a violent one?”

 

Bruce’s blood runs cold, and he opens his mouth to answer, only for no sound to come out. It happens, sometimes, usually when Bruce is particularly frightened or overwhelmed, and Bruce curses himself internally, heart starting to pound and thoughts starting to blur as he tries to figure out how to answer, what to do.

 

He doesn’t get much time to worry about it because Smash starts to walk away, pulling Bruce along with her by the handle of her harness. She walks him out of the room entirely, leads him down an empty hallway and then stops, nudging Bruce’s hand with her nose.

 

It takes a few minutes for Bruce to become fully aware of his surroundings again, but when he does, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out one of the treats he keeps in there and gives it to Smash. A check of his watch tells him that the panel he wanted to go to has already started, and Bruce decides against going, heads to the bus stop to go home instead.

 

Task: tiring Hulk

 

On the rare occasions that Hulk fronts outside of battles, he usually has a lot of energy and nothing to do with it, which can make him angry and destructive. They discovered the solution on accident, and have been using it ever since; so when Hulk fronts one day after Bruce accidentally cuts his hand while in the lab, Hulk heads out to the open field Tony had made outside the tower, Smash following behind.

 

Hulk and Smash run in circles around each other, Hulk laughing every time Smash comes close and jumps on his leg or when she dodges out of reach, whole body wagging with enthusiasm as she barks and plays with Hulk.

 

When Hulk’s tired, he lays down on the ground, Smash climbing up to lay on his chest until Hulk falls asleep, Bruce fronting again and taking Hulk’s place, curled up on the ground under a snoozing Smash.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to talk to me about this series or anything else, or you want to see other drabbles and notes related to this series, you can find me on tumblr [ here ](https://servicedogsforsuperheroes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!!


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